


it was love that spun the world

by WashiEaglewings



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Hadestown!AU, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashiEaglewings/pseuds/WashiEaglewings
Summary: There's an old saying in Verna: the train is a generous giver but a greedy taker. When an unexpected break in the tracks puts the stops on Sora and Riku's journey back home, they discover more than just that old town and a beaten black journal; they learn just how true that saying is.
Relationships: Aqua/Terra (Kingdom Hearts), Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	it was love that spun the world

**Author's Note:**

> Been a minute! This is an AU I've been fiddling with since I heard the spectacular musical Hadestown last spring, and it's finally at the stage where I'm ready to share it with everyone. No knowledge of the musical is necessary, but I highly recommend listening to it just because it's good. Obsessive, even.
> 
> Special thanks to [sophiecognito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiecognito/pseuds/sophiecognito) for a wonderful beta. Listen to the [fic playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2jPt8rOv58d0PNnwUn9WsO?si=VWZuUSTAR0-dwbEfxCDqUg) on Spotify, and feel free to follow me [on Twitter](http://twitter.com/awakingdormancy).

“Wake me up when we hit the next station,” Sora yawns, the words not even out of his mouth before he falls over in his seat.

Riku laughs, his soft “okay” too late to keep Sora company in dreams. Between the steady rocking of the train and the thermostat set to a perfect 70 degrees and the countryside racing right outside their window, Riku’s half tempted to join him. 

It had been Sora’s idea to take the train back home from what was once New York, the end of a much-needed vacation. (Sora's words, not Riku's.) Their wallets had driven them to two tiny passenger seats on a McDuck Railway cargo train. Sora had picked the movie to show on the tiny display screen before the easy rhythm of the train and the morning’s chaos had gotten to him; Riku only pays half-attention to it, his eyes catching on handsome willows and flat meadows ringed with pines rushing past them.

The movie is one they’ve watched before, years ago, when the worst things they could imagine were math teachers and getting caught sneaking out for late-night Blitzball on the beach.The main girl has received her mission to save the other protagonist, and is just about to step into a dark tunnel when the screen freezes. A voice comes over the intercom, sharp and only slightly panicked: “Passengers, brace for impact.”

Riku only has time to say, “What?” before the train lurches to a stop. Sora and Riku slam into the opposing seats with a sharp yelp; Sora just manages to miss the opposing arm rests, but Riku’s head clangs against the flat compartment door. He hisses, the sound of his skull against the metal ringing in his ears.

“That’s not what I meant by ‘wake me up,’” Sora moans, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand.

Riku straightens slowly, tenderly probing the side of his head with his fingers. No blurred vision, no muffled hearing, just the promise of a killer headache in the morning. “Am I bleeding?”

“C’mere, let me see.” Sora gives him the once over, sighs, and shakes his head. “Eyes’re a little dilated, but I think Wakka’s hit you harder. Me?”

He can understand words; another good sign. Riku looks over Sora, but other than a taste of bedhead and a tiny bruise right above his eye he looks fine. “Don’t think so.”

“Wonder what happened?” Sora says, finally standing. He offers a hand to Riku, who takes it, and opens the door to poke his head out. “Think anyone else is on this train?”

“See anyone?”

“No.” He turns to Riku. “Maybe in another car?”

They’d traveled light, bringing only backpacks and anything that could fit into them. Riku’s is still an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders--though far lighter than Sora’s, who had been determined to get one memento from every single place they’d visited on their impulse journey east. Still, he’s determined to take the lead to walk down the train. Riku gladly lets him.

There are only a few passenger cars to check, and all of them are empty. He looks outside, where pine trees have replaced the willows and apple orchards and darkened the forest floor beneath the canopy. He narrows his eyes.

The door behind them opens and a high-pitched voice calls out, “Anybody hurt?”

At least, Riku _thinks_ that’s what he’s heard. The man who looks up at them is short and stout, his red face a perfect compliment to his bright blue blazer, and speaks in an accent thicker than the Tonga toast they’d tried at that cheap Polynesian place for breakfast.

“We’re doing okay,” says Sora. “Are you the—”

“Stationmaster,” he says, “and you can call me Sir.”

Sora and Riku glance at each other. Riku raises his brow. Sora shrugs.

“Gonna have to get you two off this train. Something’s wrong with the tracks.” His words dissolve into mush, and Riku leans in slightly trying to concentrate. “...far of a walk. Do you need any help before we go?”

“Go where? What the hell’s going on?” Riku asks.

Sora says, “The next town. Some place called Verna." He catches Riku's falling face and winces. "I mean, it's not like we can stay on the train.”

The stationmaster leads Sora and Riku down and off the train. There’s an old path that stretches out alongside the train tracks, slightly uneven and rocky. “At least you have good shoes,” the stationmaster says, adjusting the blue cap on his head. “Ready?”

Riku sighs, looking over at Sora. Sora grins sheepishly. “You _did_ say yes to an adventure.”

“I did.” Riku closes his eyes. “But not one like this.”

The stationmaster snickers, almost snake-like through his teeth, and urges them down the path. They pass a few crew members along the way, circled around a broken twist of track. No wonder they’d been flown out of their seats; it’s probably a miracle they’d stayed on the rails to begin with.

If it weren’t for the heavy canopy of pine trees, it would probably be a nice walk; Riku shivers in his light jacket, trying to see past the tiny glimpses of sun through the boughs. In the shadiest places there’s even a few small piles of snow, frost nipping at the needled boughs.

“When was the last time you ever saw snow?” Sora marvels.

On TV over Christmas, he thinks, almost three months ago. Right before he’d started the job he’s supposed to return to tomorrow morning.

“So those tracks,” Riku says, pulling his jacket closer to him. “Sir, do you know when they’ll be fixed?”

“Not sure,” says the short man in front of them. “Not tonight. We’ll get you a place to sleep and some food though, no worries.”

They were supposed to be on the ferry home tonight. He’s going to have to call and explain the situation, beg for a few unpaid days off despite being gone for the past week.

Gods. He’s probably going to get fired from that job, isn’t he?

“Maybe there’ll be another way to get back,” Sora says. “Like, a bus or something?” The stationmaster warbles something else, and Sora blanches. “What kind of town doesn’t have busses?”

Definitely fired.

“Or cars,” the stationmaster says.

No chance of a halfway-decent recommendation, even. He can imagine the reviews now: _Bails from job to end up in the middle of nowhere. Hyperfocused to the employee’s detriment._

The small party is silent as the trees give way to open streets, where almost-warm sunlight washes over them. It seems too cold for March, but he’s never been this far north before; maybe it’s just different here. The few people they pass by don’t seem bothered by it, making their way purposefully through shops and down battered streets--streets that are almost too narrow to let a single car through, never mind two.

The stationmaster leads them past a giant park ringed with bushes that have not gone into bloom, past what looks like a post office, and walks straight up into a small building. The sign above the entrance has faded with time, and the only word legible enough to read is “Bar.”

He could use more than a few drinks right now.

It takes a second for Riku’s eyes to adjust once they’ve cleared the swinging doors. The breezy grays and greens of the town give way to dark browns and reds inside the bar; older furniture gleams under the lights after a recent oiling, and large candles flicker merrily in the centers of the tables despite being upstaged by brass lights hanging just above them. It’s infinitely warmer than outside, and cozy. Manufactured contentment, sure, but for a moment Riku smiles.

An older couple is chatting merrily at the front of the house with the bartender, who flits back and forth between them and the window to the kitchen. The bartender looks up and waves a hand, then pauses. “You bring some out-of-towners in, Donald?”

“That’s Stationmaster!” the stationmaster squawks, then clears his throat. “I need to talk with the Mayor. Get these two whatever they want.”

Sora balks. “Uh, Sir—”

“It’s on McDuck Railways,” Donald says, and heads out the door.

“That’s never a good sign,” the older man at the bar laughs. “Sit anywhere you want.”

“Hey, knock it off Bill. Whose bar is this?” the bartender asks.

“Your Papa’s, Max.”

Max sighs, gesturing to the open space. “Your pick, I guess.”

He lets Sora guide them to a small table near the front of the house, close to a small performance stage with a tiny piano, a jukebox, and a boxy silver microphone. Riku puts down his backpack with a sigh.

The bartender walks over to them, handing them menus with spots of dust tucked away in the corners. “Welcome to Verna, and the Taylor and Paraza. I’m Max, and—”

“The hell do you mean, tracks are _broke?_ ” Bill’s voice rings through the bar. The stationmaster shushes him loudly, swatting a gloved hand at the other man. Max’s face falls, brow furrowing. Great, so even the locals are surprised. Not a good sign. 

Sora chuckles awkwardly. “We, uh, didn’t plan on stopping here.”

Max shakes his head, tries to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, we’ll take good care of you. I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu.”

Sora offers a quiet thanks as Riku opens the menu. Nothing too out of left field: burgers and salads and sandwiches.

“Riku?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s going to have to call the agency again, see if there’s any openings he could fill. He’d even try manual labor again, break out the old wrist brace--

“We’re gonna get through this,” Sora says, nudging him gently with his foot. “I know it’s not the ending we were planning for. I’m really sorry.”

That finally makes Riku glance up, see Sora glancing slightly away from him. “You weren’t the one who wrecked the tracks.”

“No, but…” He pauses, closing his menu. “No matter what, I’ll get us home. Promise.”

It’s always been this way: Sora makes the grand, sweeping promises that are meant to fill them both with passion and drive and hope; Riku is the one who focuses on the details to make those promises reality. It’s gotten them into sticky situations as long as they’ve known each other. Saner people, he’s been told time and time again, would put an end to the madness, cut their losses, try to seek a more stable friendship.

But they’ve been through too much with each other to call it quits. Not that he'd ever want to. So Riku nods, offering a fleeting smile.

That’s when the bartender comes up to them, one pencil tucked behind his drooping ear and another balanced between his fingers. “So. Any idea what you want to order?”

They order burgers and beers. Max sweeps up their menus and files their ticket through the window to the kitchen, then leans down to talk with the other patrons. 

“Bet you they’re trying to figure out where to put us,” Sora says, leaning back in his chair.

Riku rests his clasped hands on the table, running his pinky along a raised grain of wood. “Town this small and out-of-the-way has to have an interesting motel.”

“We stayed in that seedy hotel in Cago.”

“You still owe me for that.”

“How was I supposed to know they had a bedbug problem?”

His skin itches at the memory of it. Riku shoots another glance at the gathered townsfolk and sighs. “So long as there are blankets, I guess we can’t complain.”

Sora laughs, nudging Riku’s ankle with his foot. “It’ll be great! Two guys out in the world, just the open road and some crappy beds!”

“Hopefully not crappy food.”

It isn’t, when it comes: tender meat and crisp alcohol come together for a perfect meal, one that can’t be waved away by worries that it’s “just the exhaustion talking.” Halfway through their meal, the bar doors swing open and a man walks in; Riku only notices from his peripheral as he takes another bite. When their plates are cleaned, both boys lean back into their chairs with satisfied smiles. It’s the best Riku’s felt in hours, and for a moment he thinks of things other than work and the journey home.

Until he hears a quiet voice say, “They can come stay with me,” and the world turns. The newest patron has adjusted his bowler hat over his blond hair, peeling off his aviator jacket. “I’ve got the room, and I’ll be gone by morning.”

Sora’s still blissed out from his burger; this time Riku nudges his foot, hard and demanding, spurring Sora from his stupor. “What?”

Riku gestures to the bar. They lean in, straining to listen.

Max scoffs. “In this snow?”

“I’ve fared worse. Besides, Thaddeus owes me a favor; I’ll just take Cyril.”

“Cyril’s a beast of a horse, but even he’s not good enough to make it to the city.” Bill tsks. “This is crazy even for you, Ven.”

“Look, this way they have a warm and stable place to sleep, they’ll be with each other, and they won’t get into trouble. Donald says the repair team’ll be here as soon as they can. I’ll only be gone a few days. They’re on their way home, we have the Telling, and everything’s back to normal.”

He doesn’t know what the hell a Telling is, but it sounds important. Riku makes the mistake of locking eyes with Ven, and seals their fate. The man in the bowler hat waves them over with a sharp turn of his hand.

Sora stretches, pushing his empty plate in front of him. “Think we should go say hello?”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Riku mutters, and gathers the plates as Sora grabs the backpacks. There are two open seats at the bar, and the two boys fall into them.

“Wow, they even bussed.” Max’s eyes are bright as he collects the dirty plates and sets them in a wash bin. “Good news! We found you a place to stay.”

“Thanks, uh… Mayor?” Riku asks.

But the blond man shakes his head with a laugh. This close he can see the man’s winged earrings glint in the light. “Not quite. You can call me Ven.”

“Call him the Teller,” Bill says. “Have some respect for the position.”

“Teller?” Sora asks.

“I guess you could say I’m like a historian,” the Teller says, a fleeting smile on his face. “Keeper of stories. The town’s memory. Take your pick.”

Bill grumbles in his seat. “Still say we should put them up at Masako’s.”

“She doesn’t have the room since her granddaughter came back from school,” Ven says simply, and turns to them. “It’ll be fine. The house is warm and I have two clean beds.”

Sora and Riku turn to each other. Sora is the one to ask, “How much would we owe you?”

“Nothing. You’re fellow travellers. Consider this a good deed.” Ven smiles. “I’m sure you’re ready to rest for a bit. Ready to head out?”

“I guess we don’t need to pay,” Riku says, locking eyes with Max. He nods, bending down to grab something. 

They almost make it to the door when Max calls out to them. “Ven, wait! You forgot something last time!”

“Can you grab that for me?” Ven asks Riku, before heading outside.

Riku tells Sora to go ahead without him before heading back to the bar, where Max holds a tattered old book in his hand. “He has a habit of leaving things here, but since he’s heading off…”

“I'll make sure it gets back to him,” Riku says, and puts the book in his jacket pocket. He forgets it immediately when braced against the winter wind.

Somehow it’s gotten colder in the short time they were inside; when the man in the bowler hat leads them to his small house two-story on the edge of the town, the tips of Riku’s fingers are more blue than pink. Ven doesn't seem bothered by the short walk, but quickly starts a fire and gestures them to the one red couch in the living room. There are only a few personal touches in the otherwise simple living room: a few photos on the mantle covered in dust, a couple of books on astrology in the built-in bookshelf on the western wall that look like they haven’t been read, a blue and white blanket folded over a rocking chair.

“Are those local flowers?” Sora asks, looking at a bouquet of dark red flowers in a large white pot by the fireplace. 

“Sure are,” the Teller says. “We’re better known for our apples, but these flowers always remind me of home.”

“My friend grows flowers like those,” Sora says. “Can never remember what they’re called.”

“They’re carnations,” Riku says softly. “But I’ve never seen them in a small pot like that.”

“It’s tricky if you don’t feed them right, but they’re worth it.” Ven settles into the rocking chair beside the bookcase, laying his hat to rest on the table beside him. “So a couple things, I guess. There’s two beds in the guest room, which is right up the stairs and to the left. Extra sheets are in the closet, and the bathroom will be to your right. Shower only has hot water for the first five minutes of the day. Oh, and the flowers have to be watered once a day.”

“Do you have a phone that I could borrow?” Riku asks.

Ven nods. “Reception’s pretty patchy out here, but the landline’s in the kitchen. Number is on the notepad.”

Sora sighs beside him, but Riku pays no mind. He fishes out his wallet to get the office number, but is immediately sent to voicemail. He isn't surprised, given the later hour, and leaves a quick message with a callback number. In the morning he'll have to wait by the receiver and pray they at least give him a call back. 

The Teller is wrapping a scarf around his neck when Riku returns to the living room. Sora is nowhere to be seen. Ven meets his eyes and says, “Your friend went upstairs. I need to go see a man about a horse. Make yourselves comfortable.”

There’s a difference between staying in a hotel and staying in a stranger’s _home_. Riku isn’t sure how to feel about it, even when Ven leaves. But the guest bedroom seems decent enough, and while the beds are firmer than he’s used to they are decisively unbroken and bedbug free. He’s just taking off his jacket when he feels something firm in his pocket, and pulls out the battered black book from the bar.

Sora, rubbing his newly brushed teeth with the tip of his tongue, notices. “When’d you pick that up?”

“The Teller left it behind last time he was at the bar,” Riku says, idly running a finger down the cracking spine. “I should probably give it back to him.”

“Just leave it on the table, he’ll see it when he gets back.” Sora crosses the room to sit beside Riku, already sporting premature bed head. 

He should head downstairs and do just that. Instead, on impulse, Riku opens it. Blocky letters take up most of the yellowing pages; the rest are covered with tiny doodles, light sketches that have almost faded completely. A journal.

“Feeling a little rebellious tonight?” Sora asks.

“You’re the one who decided to get home in a cargo train and stop for horrible Tonga toast." Carefully, Riku flips to the very first page. He's almost expecting to see a PROPERTY OF tag, but there's nothing, just the first entry. "This’ll be my little mistake of the day.”

“Well, scoot over then, I want to see.”

The bed really isn’t big enough for the both of them to lay down; instead they prop their backs against the bedroom wall, bracing themselves with hard pillows on either side. Riku begins to read aloud.

> _March 17. Think it’s going to be another bad harvest this year. Doesn’t stop us from weeding the beds and hoping. The Stationmaster’s uncle, the one who owns the new trains, is insisting we replace some of the old tracks. The farmers aren’t happy, thinking they’re going to pull workers away from the fields to work on the rails._

“Like the one we came in on?” Sora asks, his head falling onto Riku’s shoulder. Riku adjusts wordlessly, quietly delighting in the firm warmth of Sora’s body beside his. 

“Must be.” He clears his throat and begins again.

> _They’re right. There’s only a few men here who’re willing to make the move, and I’m the youngest and strongest of them. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for. As soon as I can save enough money for a ticket and a few months’ rent I’m out of here. Don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do, but anything has to be better than here. If I have to look at another wood axe again…_
> 
> _But I’m getting ahead of myself. People like to say around here that Verna’s railroad is a generous giver, but a greedy taker. It’s been in a taking mood for the last ten years, between the landslides and the economy luring people out and away from the town. But it’s like old Yen Sid says: spring will come again. Once the snow is gone there will be people here looking for hard work again._

He turns to Sora, mouth open with a question, but pauses when he sees those baby blues flutter shut. “Still with me?”

“Keep reading,” Sora insists, despite a tiny yawn slipping out between the words.

Riku chuckles, and continues to the next entry.

> _March 18. Old Yen Sid has started preparations for the Telling. This time of year I offer to help him by preparing the stage and gathering decorations. This year he has a new assistant, short little kid with a mop of light hair. According to Yen Sid he’s learning how to become the next Teller. I’ve seen him a few times in town but never really got to know him; he seemed quiet, shied away from me when I tried to say hello. We usually don’t see kids who weren’t born here. I wonder where he came from?_
> 
> _March 19. The town’s starting to shut down to celebrate the Telling. It’s supposed to be a time for relaxing and planning for the warm seasons ahead, but I’ve done my planning. I know my path forward, but we can’t start really working on the rails until after the Telling. Just general maintenance for now. Superstition._
> 
> _The last train before the Telling finally came in late this afternoon. The old man who brings fruits and yeast from the east every year came back to Verna. The Baker swears by his yeast, says it’s magic. I wouldn’t know the difference._
> 
> _March 20. Big day today. Every spring the whole town gathers in the main square to listen to the stories of the gods. It’s a tradition supposedly as old as Verna itself, and while it isn’t a rule, it’s expected that everyone shows up. My roommates managed to save enough money to get a Banora for each of us; normally we have to settle for the overripe ones on the ground that get forgotten when they fall out of season, but these come right out of the jars. Riss even brought a bit of sugar to sprinkle on top; her flowers started blooming early this morning and she's in a good mood. It's hard not to be, even as Yen Sid begins the Telling._
> 
> _Yen Sid tells plenty of stories about the ancient gods who controlled the world, but the Telling is always focused on two: Hades and Persephone. Persephone travels to and from the Underworld under an agreement with Hades, her husband; half of the year is spent on earth, when the planet’s warm and food’s plentiful, while the other is spent in the underworld and the world is cold and in mourning. Verna is supposed to be the first place Spring arrives, when winter finally yields to the warmth of the new season; as thanks, we maintain the railroad so Persephone can travel throughout the world without issue._
> 
> _But we haven’t had a proper spring for as long as I’ve been alive, which means either Yen Sid is giving us false hope about the planet going nuts, or those gods exist and just don’t care about us. I don’t know which would be worse. I can’t say this to anyone else though. I have a hard enough time keeping work as is._
> 
> _March 23. Work finally started on the railroad. It’s backbreaking, demanding work. I feel challenged for the first time in a long while._
> 
> _We have to schedule our shifts for very specific times; trains still have to come in to supply the town and get to the cities. We get the odd visitor every now and then who want to see the birthplace of Banora apples, but it’s been a while since we had a good harvest. Mostly we get cargo trains. When I’m not working the rails I help load and unload packages to get trains out faster, so I can get back to the real work._
> 
> _No one was supposed to be on the train, but in the last train car I heard someone singing. It didn't quite stop when I opened the door and found a woman hiding in the cases of produce for the restaurants. It was hard to get a good look at her in the darkness of the cart._
> 
> _She asked me for my name first. I told her. She asked me where we were, and I asked for her name instead. Just to be fair. She smiled and told me, Aqua. Like water. Then she asked if I was going to get her in trouble, and stepped closer to me. She looked thin and her clothes were dirty, like she'd been riding the rails for a few weeks. I could have taken her on; she probably wouldn't be worth much in a fight, soft and thin as she was. But something stopped me from doing that._

Riku's about to turn the page when a loud snore interrupts him. Sora’s fully fallen asleep, now a heavy weight on Riku’s side. Riku chuckles, resting his cheek on the top of Sora’s head. His own eyelids have started drooping shut, and it takes him a few tries to finish the last sentences.

> _I was the only one on this part of the train. So I went to grab the jack to begin unloading the car. She slipped right past me and thanked me, said she’d repay the favor someday. In the light of day I could see something like a guitar slung over her shoulders, practically in perfect condition compared to her dirty white shirt and torn pants. She disappeared into the trees. I didn't hear anything about a stranger heading back home, but..._
> 
> _That was this afternoon. It’s almost midnight now. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since._

He knows the feeling.

It takes everything in him to put the book away to a safe spot of the bed, where neither he or Sora will disturb it. He should push Sora off of him, move him to the other bed on the other side of the room. But his _everything_ is tired and sore. Instead, he lays his cheek back on the top of Sora's head, breathes his shampoo, and closes his eyes.


End file.
